


fine line

by loveleee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Break Up, College, F/M, Long Distance Relationship, Pregnancy Scare, Sex, and a little bit of fluff, i'm not a total angst monster, post-s4, references to 4x17 & 4x18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleee/pseuds/loveleee
Summary: Betty and Jughead had stumbled their way through it – with a lot of tears, and long, frustrating, circular conversations about what they both wanted.They always came back, stubbornly, to the same thing: each other.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 114
Kudos: 148
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. missing scene

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, this might seem familiar! I originally wrote all of this in response to prompts during the June 2020 Bughead Drabble Challenge. Normally I put drabbles in my [bits & pieces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14015427/chapters/32276775) prompt collection, but because these are all part of one bigger story, I debated for a while what to do with them. 
> 
> Since they were originally written very quickly, I'll be posting them one at a time, editing and expanding on them as I go. I might add in some additional scenes, too, to help make it all feel more cohesive. I don't anticipate any big changes to what happens, but for those of you who have already read these, I hope the revisions offer a little more insight into the characters and help make it feel fresh.
> 
> Chapter titles refer to the prompt for each section.

She finds him in their room that evening, propped up against the pillows, typing furiously. Betty climbs up onto the bed beside him and tucks her chin against his shoulder. She needs only a glance at the screen to know it’s the story he’s been working on – his five-thousand-word ticket to a future he’s always wanted, but was never sure he’d have.

“Making progress?”

“Mm.”

She watches words appear on the screen for a few moments more, then turns her head, brushing her nose against his cheek. “Can we talk?”

Jughead’s fingers pause over the keyboard. He doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s “in the zone”; it was one of the various hurdles they’d had to overcome when Betty stopped pretending she was living at the Pembrooke, and they started sharing a bedroom in earnest.

But they’d agreed: she wouldn’t do this if it weren’t important.

He takes a deep breath, then nods, shutting the laptop. Another thing they’d agreed upon: his full attention, no exceptions. “What’s up?”

Betty reaches over to take his hand, threading their fingers together. “Is Iowa it? This is where you want to go?”

It’s a question she’d never asked him about Stonewall. She’d never had to. It was obvious, to her at least, the way his eyes grew a fraction bigger at the mention of its name, the slight uptick in the tempo of his words. _It’s so pretentious_ , he’d scoffed, secretly thrilled by the thought.

Iowa is different. Not in its appeal to Jughead – he wants it, she’s known that since he told her about the phone call from the recruiter, blue eyes glassy in the glow of his computer screen. _I think I could actually get in, Betts._

It’s different because it’s the kind of place that wants him back.

He stares down at where their hands are joined, rubbing his thumb slowly over the delicate skin of her wrist. “I think so, yeah.” His eyes widen as he looks up at her. “It wasn’t my first choice. That was Yale, with you. It just –”

“I know.” She squeezes his hand. “It seems impossible now.”

It had seemed impossible from the very beginning, if she’s honest with herself. _All the mysteries, lots of pizza, you and me, together._ It would have sounded hopelessly mundane, if they’d ever spoken it aloud to anyone else.

But to Betty – her arms looped around his neck, feet off the ground, looking at his smile so wide it might snap as she kissed him – it had sounded like a dream.

“It’s far,” he says, squeezing back.

“It’s only four years,” Betty says. “And we’ll have summers, and winter break…”

“Six,” he corrects her gently. “I’d want to do the workshop, if I can get in. It’s an MFA, so it’s another two years.”

Betty swallows with a dry mouth. She’s known that all along, of course; just hasn’t really let herself think about it. Four years is the drumbeat she’s had in the back of her head since the moment she realized she was in love with someone who met the definition of _high school sweetheart._ Six years is…something else entirely.

She shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Okay, so…I guess I’ll move to Iowa for a few years.”

She knows what he’s going to say – _that’s a lot to ask, Betty, you don’t know what you’re going to want four years from now_ – so she stops him before he can get a word out, with a kiss.

She’d only meant it as a brief thing, an interruption, but he kisses her back with intent. His hands find her neck, her jawline. Betty shifts closer, slipping her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. His skin is warm, familiar, _hers_.

_I know I’ll want you_ , she thinks, as his hands move lower, guiding her onto her back.

_tbc_


	2. prom/graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is basically canon through the end of s4, so be warned there are some (vague) references to 4x17 - 4x18 in this section.
> 
> Also be warned that I've upped the rating to M because of this section! Apparently when I said I was going to "expand" these drabbles, I really meant "make them smutty". lol

Jughead rests his chin on Betty’s shoulder, blinking slowly at the scene before him.

The Andrews’ backyard is bathed in fading sunlight, fireflies just beginning to flicker into life where they hover above the freshly cut grass. Mowing the lawn had always been one of Archie’s least favorite chores, but ever since last summer, he’s done it every few weeks like clockwork.

Back by the shed, FP and JB are playing a contentious game of cornhole; JB appears to be winning, though it’s just as likely she simply enjoys trash talking their dad. A few feet away, Kevin and Ethel take turns tossing a ratty old tennis ball for Vegas to fetch.

To no one’s surprise, Betty’s mother is fussing with the leftover paper plates and napkins on the buffet table. Probably an attempt to release whatever frustrated desire to host a graduation party she’s been suppressing since her older daughter never finished high school, and her younger daughter didn’t want one.

Most perplexingly, Reggie Mantle is deep in conversation with Archie’s mom’s girlfriend, pausing every few seconds to flex his biceps, while Mary Andrews watches the interaction from her seat at the other end of the picnic table, barely concealed amusement on her face.

“Is Reggie trying to hit on Archie’s future step-mom?” Jughead wonders aloud.

Betty leans back against his chest, stretching her legs out before her like a cat. “What?”

“Eh, nothing.”

She taps his right leg, tilting her head towards the other side of the yard. “Look at Archie and Veronica.”

It’s been a while since he’s heard her say their names like that: _Archie-and-Veronica_. Their best friends had broken up two months ago, the night of their senior prom, when the truth about Betty and Archie’s ill-advised kiss had come to light.

Betty and Jughead had stumbled their way through it – with a lot of tears, and long, frustrating, circular conversations about what they both wanted. (They always came back, stubbornly, to the same thing: each other.) It had taken weeks, but eventually Jughead had settled squarely into a place of forgiveness.

Veronica, not so much.

He’d been surprised to see that she’d even shown up to Archie’s graduation party, let alone spoken to Archie. Now the two of them are seated on the steps of the back deck, heads tilted together, the ghost of a smile on Veronica’s face.

“Seems promising.” He squeezes the arm looped around Betty’s waist a little tighter, pulling her against him. He’s forgiven Betty, and Archie; it doesn’t mean he doesn’t still take comfort in the physical reassurance of holding her in his arms, in front of all of their friends and relations.

“I hope so.” Betty tilts her head back, looking up at him. “You wanna go home soon? I’m kinda beat.”

Jughead nods, resting his lips against her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair. Four weeks – that’s all they’ve got left of this last, fading summer.

He pauses, then moves his mouth lower, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. He smiles at the faint tremor it sends through her body.

“Don’t do that,” she murmurs.

Across the yard, Veronica is putting her hand on Archie’s forearm. Archie smiles at her, and Jughead kisses Betty’s neck again.

“Why not?”

“My mom is _right_ there.”

He’d caught his father doing nearly the same exact thing to her mother that morning in the kitchen, but he doesn’t tell her that. She doesn’t want to hear it.

They leave without saying goodbye. It’s only July; Archie is preoccupied; there’s no one at the party they won’t see before summer’s end. Back in their room, he pins her to the bed, tugging her shorts down over her knees while she squirms eagerly beneath his weight.

“We’re home alone,” she tells him, and closes her eyes and moans when he presses his thumb to the damp spot on her underwear.

He teases her a little, at first – he likes to do that, to make her whine, make her grab at his hips, make her desperate – but he’s desperate for her, too. Soon he’s inside of her, the tight, slick heat almost too much to bear.

Betty’s eyes are still closed, her mouth open, face flushed. A desire he can’t put words to surges through him. He pins her wrists up over her head, pressing them against the pillows, and says, “I want you to say my name.”

Her eyes open. She stares up at him, her chest heaving as he fucks her, as she lifts her hips to meet him. He’s determined, relentless, but so is she. He watches her lips form around a word, and then she pauses. Whatever she sees in the way he’s gazing back at her, it’s not that.

_Jughead._

His name leaves her mouth and it hooks around his spine, pulling him in tighter, deeper. She’s liquid and heat and he can’t live without this, without her teeth and tongue and the sound of his name. He _can’t_.

He releases her wrists and buries his fingers in her hair, his thumbs pressing into either side of her neck. “Say it again.”

“Jug.” Her fingernails run parallel lines down his back. “Jug, oh, _fuck_.”

Betty comes first, her body tensing around him, melting into release as he follows.

“ _Fuck_ , I love you.” He chokes the words out against her shoulder. Her skin is damp beneath his cheek – sweat, or something else. “Shit. Betty. I –”

“I know.” There’s a trembling in her voice, but she runs her hand down his back like she’s soothing them both. “I know.”

_tbc_


	3. heat wave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are gonna get suuuuuper college-y for a few chapters.

“Hey, you.”

Jughead’s face fills the screen of her laptop, and for the first time all day she feels her body relax, her shoulders drop. Then, just as quickly, a flood of longing runs through her, settling into a lump in her throat. She misses him already.

“How’d it go?”

Betty makes a face – _how do you think it went?_ – and he laughs. “That bad?”

She laughs, too, and adjusts the laptop to keep herself centered for the camera as she lies down on her (tiny, lumpy, standard-issue dorm room) bed. “It was fine,” she admits. “There were a bunch of student volunteers to help move my stuff in. My mom only made one of them cry.”

Betty had desperately wanted Jughead to come with them, too, but the timing hadn’t worked out – he had to hit the road for Iowa City with his dad in the morning to make it in time for his own freshman orientation.

“Apparently the entire state of Connecticut is in the middle of a record-breaking heatwave,” she informs him. “So that was great.”

Jughead leans a little closer to his screen. “Is that why you look kinda sweaty?” At Betty’s scowl, he grins. “Glowing. I meant glowing.”

She rolls her eyes. “You want to see my room?”

It takes her about 30 seconds to give him the grand tour – her bed, made up neatly with a blue floral duvet and a pile of throw pillows Alice had insisted upon; her desk, and the heart-shaped picture frame she’d brought from home propped up against the wall behind it, with a photo of the two of them dancing at prom newly installed in the center slot.

The other side of the room remains untouched. Her roommate – Lauren Palmer from Illinois, whose name had made the both of them burst into giggles when Betty received her room assignment – isn’t arriving until tomorrow afternoon.

“Very cozy.” Jughead dips out of frame for a moment, reappearing with a bag of potato chips in his lap. “Are you gonna put anything on the walls?”

“There’s supposed to be a poster sale on the main quad next week.”

“Promise me you won’t buy a poster of The Kiss.” He chomps loudly on a chip. “Actually, no. Buy like, _twenty_ posters of The Kiss and wallpaper your half of the room with it.”

Betty giggles. “Do you want my roommate to hate me?”

“Yes.” Jughead raises an eyebrow as he licks the tips of his fingers. “So she’ll leave us alone when I come to visit.”

A soft ache blooms in her chest. There are no actual plans for him to make the trek from Iowa to Connecticut, not for this semester, when their fall breaks are misaligned. They’d agreed that the trip was too long and expensive for a mere three-day weekend, anyway.

“Well, she’s not here yet,” she says slowly. She places her laptop on the edge of her desk, adjusting the screen slightly, and scoots back on her bed so that her upper half is visible to the camera. If there was any silver lining to her brief flirtation with camming back in sophomore year, it’s that Betty now knows her angles. Biting her lower lip, she toys with the strap of her tank top, letting it slip over her shoulder.

Even on video, she can see the way Jughead is struggling to tamp down a smile, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he takes her in. “Give me one minute.” He mutes himself before setting his laptop aside, the camera trained on a familiar view of her own headboard at home, the sheets unmade, the pillows indented on only one side of the bed.

 _Her_ side of the bed, she realizes, the ache in her chest pulling tight into something sharper.

He climbs back onto the bed a few seconds later. “All set.”

Heart beating fast, Betty runs her fingers down her shoulder and across her chest, cupping her breast in her hand. They’d made one or two attempts at phone sex while Jughead was at Stonewall, before agreeing it was easy enough – and far more satisfying – for Betty to simply make the 40-minute train ride out there than try to deal with Bret’s tendency to burst into the room at the absolute worst moments.

But they’d never really gotten _good_ at it, the way they’d gotten good at other things they’d had much more opportunity to practice together. She’d never quite figured out how to push past the feeling of awkwardness, and just… _feel._

“I wish you were here.” She brings her free hand to cup her other breast, and moves her thumbs slowly, teasingly over her nipples, both visible beneath the thin fabric of her top. Seeing Jughead’s throat work as he watches her sends a pool of heat right to her core. “I wish you could touch me.”

“I wish I could touch you, too.” His voice sounds rough. She can’t see his hands, but she can tell from the way his arms are angled that he’s unbuttoning his jeans. She opens her mouth to ask him if he’ll move back further, let her see all of him, when there’s a knock at her door.

Her microphone must not catch the sound, because Jughead is still talking as his right arm begins to move, just the slightest flex in his bicep. “ _Shit_. Jug, someone’s here – just – hang on.” She spins her computer around to face the wall so whoever’s on the other side of the door won’t see the screen.

Betty casts about the room for a sweatshirt, scarf, _anything_ to hide the fact that her nipples are still poking through her tank top like a pair of headlights, but she hasn’t fully unpacked yet, and has to settle for crossing her arms over her chest as she pulls the door open.

There are two girls in the doorway – roommates who live a few doors down the hall. Angelina and…something with an S, Betty thinks. She’d met them earlier today, a welcome distraction from her mother’s lecture on the appropriate frequency with which to launder her bedsheets.

“Hey,” says the one whose name she can’t remember. “A bunch of us are hanging out in Tim and Mason’s room, we wanted to see if you’d want to come?”

“They have a handle of vodka,” Angelina adds. “We were going to get some mixers from the vending machines.”

“Oh.” Betty feels a tug of disappointment in her stomach. She _does_ sort of want to hang out – these people are her neighbors, after all, and maybe future classmates. Future _friends_.

“I’d love to,” she tells them, hoping the sincerity of her tone will overcome the standoffish lock of her arms across her chest. “I just was, um. I’m kind of in the middle of talking to my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Angelina says, after a split-second pause. “I mean, we can wait a sec, if you need a sec to tell him bye.”

The other girl must sense Betty’s hesitation, because she smiles widely, shaking her head. “No, it’s cool. Sorry for interrupting. Maybe next time.”

“Or later?” Betty asks. “If you guys are still hanging out.”

“Yeah, it’s only like, ten. Stop by when you’re done. We’ll be in 314.” Angelina wiggles her fingers goodbye. Betty watches them walk away, heads tilting together as they reach the end of the hall, and wonders if she’s already made a mistake, less than one day into her entire college experience.

She shuts the door and takes a deep breath before returning to her bed, pulling her computer into her lap. Jughead’s still onscreen, studying something on his phone.

“Hey. I’m sorry. There are these girls on my floor, they wanted me to come to a dorm party, or something.”

“Yeah, I could hear.” Jughead tosses his phone to the side. “You can go hang out with them, you know. It’s fine.”

“No.” Betty shakes her head. “I want to talk to you. I’m just not sure, um…now I’m worried someone might overhear if we’re…like, getting too vocal.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I think that kind of killed the mood.” He leans a little closer to the screen. “But – Betty, you should go. It’s your first night. You should…go be social, and stuff.”

Her mouth curls up in a half-smile. “ _You’re_ telling me to be social.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.” He tilts his head, mouth dropping a little so she knows he’s serious. “Betts.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “But I love you and I miss you. And I want you to text me when you get there tomorrow.”

“I will. I love you, too. And I’m sure I’ll be eating my words tomorrow night when you tell me to go talk to people and all I want to do is stare at your face.”

“You can bet on it.” She blows him a kiss before she shuts her laptop; he catches it in his fist.

Betty swipes on mascara and changes her shirt, and leaves the door unlocked behind her when she steps into the fluorescent-lit hallway that now leads her home.

_tbc_


	4. two truths and a lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? This chapter is actually kinda fluffy. I really enjoyed expanding on Jughead's college experience a bit (everything after the first section is new). I hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> Fair warning, the angst really kicks in with the next chapter (though ch 6 will be the worst of it).

He can hear Betty’s voice in his head when it’s his turn to go: _Give it a chance. You don’t have to be everyone’s best friend overnight. You just have to participate._

He knows the disembodied Betty voice is right, so he holds back a deep sigh and says, “I have a little sister. My favorite food is hot dogs. My girlfriend goes to Yale.”

Nine sets of eyes focus in on him, considering him, judging him, and Jughead feels a rush of heat creep up his neck. If the administration designed freshman orientation with the intent to weed out the socially awkward from its ranks, they’re doing a great job.

Leaning back with her hands on the grass, a girl with glasses and blue streaks in her black hair shakes her head. “You don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Yeah.” A boy dressed in a sparkly black sweater, defiant of the late summer heat, chimes in. “The Yale detail is too specific.”

Jughead cannot help but be slightly offended. Is he _that_ unappealing? Betty doesn’t think so. She’d pouted over the summer: _All the college girls are going to be so into you._ So far, it seems to be one of the few things she’s ever been wrong about.

Still, it’s hard not to be smug when he says, “My favorite food is hamburgers.”

Betty laughs when he tells her about it on the phone that night. “Of course they thought you were lying. _My girlfriend goes to Yale?_ It’s kind of a flex.”

“It’s not a flex if it’s the truth,” he protests. “If I really wanted to show off I’d just show them a picture of you.”

“Aw. Jug.” Even from a thousand miles away, he can practically hear her melting. “If it makes you feel any better, my RA saw my picture of you on my desk today, and _she_ thought _I_ was lying when I said your name was Jughead.”

“It does not.” He settles back onto his bed, hoping to squeeze in as much conversation with her as he can before his own roommate, Cory, returns. “But tell me about your day.”

Jughead makes it through all three days of orientation without accumulating anyone he’d consider a “friend.” That’s fine; he gets along with Cory well enough, and their mutual interest in video games is sufficient for them to form a bond even though Cory is a biochemistry major who’d said _bless you_ when Jughead asked if he liked any Werner Herzog films.

But there’s a familiar face in his Rhetoric course, and then again in his Statistics gen ed. It’s the girl with blue-streaked hair. Her name is Tomoko, and without really intending to, he finds himself eating lunch with her twice a week in the dining hall.

He realizes after a week or two that she reminds him of Toni – not because she dyes her hair, but because she seems deeply unimpressed with at least 80 percent of what Jughead has to say, yet continues to hang out with him anyway. 

One afternoon as he’s swiping open his phone, Tomoko leans across the table, squinting at his screen, and says, “Is that your girlfriend?”

His background is a photo of Betty in her swimsuit, taken at a pool party Cheryl Blossom had thrown before the end of summer. She’s in a one-piece – low-cut, but more suggestive than revealing – with her hair damp around her shoulders and her face screwed up into an adorable pout. She’d been giving him her very best duck lips for the camera, but he’d made her laugh with some dumb joke he no longer remembers, and he’d snapped the photo before she could recover.

“Yup. That’s Betty.” Jughead pauses, then flips the phone around so Tomoko can see the photo better. He hadn’t been entirely joking when he told Betty weeks ago that he might like to show her off, but until now, he hasn’t really had the opportunity.

Tomoko studies the screen for only a second before turning her attention back to the mound of mac and cheese on her plate. “Mm. Cute.”

Jughead waits for her to say more. When she doesn’t, he pulls the phone back, frowning slightly. It’s not like he disagrees – Betty is very cute, in that picture especially – but he’d expected more of a reaction. More of a – _wow, really? **That’s** your girlfriend?_ – reaction.

“She’s at Yale,” he adds casually, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

Tomoko nods. “Right, you said that before.”

“Yeah. She’s studying psychology.” He manages to cut himself off before he says, _She’s really smart_ , like he’s Alice Cooper bragging to an old rival at her thirtieth high school reunion or something.

“Cool.” Tomoko nods again, and changes the subject to an update on her roommate’s ever-evolving laundry situation. (The pile of dirty clothes has migrated from the foot of the bed to the floor, and may have gained another square foot of mass, give or take a few hoodies.)

Still, when he tells Betty about it on video chat that night, he embellishes a little.

“My friend Tomoko saw a picture of you today,” he says.

Betty raises one eyebrow. She’s lying on her side on her bed, propped up on one elbow, her face just a bit too close to the camera. Over her shoulder he can see the bottom corner of the Vertigo poster she’d hung on the wall a few days after moving in. He likes to catch glimpses of her dorm room when they talk like this, to catalog the small changes he notices from week to week.

“Why?”

“She saw it on my phone.” He shrugs, dropping his eyes to his thumb as he picks at a hangnail. “But she definitely thought you were too hot for me.”

Her face splits open in a smile. “Shut up. I am not.”

He releases a wistful sigh. “It’s true. Too beautiful…too brilliant…”

“Juggie. Stop.” Betty giggles and flops down against her pillows, adjusting her camera to keep her face centered. Her voice is softer when she says, “I really missed you today.”

Jughead settles onto his side, mirroring her position. He thinks about how they used to lay like this, side by side in bed together, talking about their days, or whatever baffling mystery they happened to be investigating that week. How she’d press her cold little feet against his calves, and laugh when he yelped and wiggled away. How nice it was to be able to reach out and just touch her.

“Yeah.” He presses his cheek to his bicep, gazing up at her face aglow on the computer screen. He can feel the lightness of the last few minutes settling into something weightier, like a balloon slowly deflating. He hates how quickly the mood can change between them when it’s like this. “I missed you, too.”

Her mouth curls up into a smile. She’s always been better than him at fighting the current. “But on the bright side, did you finally admit that Tomoko is your _friend?”_

Jughead groans, pressing his wrist over his eyes. “No.”

“Yes you did. Literally every other time you’ve mentioned her, you called her _that girl, Tomoko_. Like I wouldn’t remember who she was,” Betty laughs.

“I tolerate her.” Really, it’s more the other way around, but Betty doesn’t need to know that.

“You have _two_ college friends, Jughead Jones. Admit it.”

“Cory is not my friend. He is my roommate.” Nonetheless, he keeps his voice down, just in case said roommate is lurking on the other side of their door at this very moment, waiting for Jughead to wrap things up so he can come back inside.

“Someday he’ll be holding your hair back while you puke into a toilet, and you’ll regret those words,” she says loftily.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Jughead forces a laugh, but there’s a little part of him that wonders if she really is. He’s never had the sense that she’s hiding anything from him when she tells him about her nights out with friends, and he’s received more than a few poorly-spelled, emoji-heavy late night texts from her over the last month and change, so it’s not like it’s news to him that sometimes Betty gets drunk.

But it makes him sad to think about her like that – vulnerable, without him around to help her.

“You’re branching out, Jug,” she says quietly, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. So he smiles, hoping she can still read the words he’s not speaking when his face is spread out before her in millions of tiny pixels, and not only the space of a breath away.


	5. fatherhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets the Angst warning. I know I've probably been, like, _overly_ descriptive of what is coming up in each chapter, but times are tough! I feel like people deserve to know when they're in for something sad vs. something happy vs. something hopeful. Things are on the downswing for these two right now, but there will be an upswing eventually. :)
> 
> Anyway - very interested to know what you think! <3

She’s still debating whether she should tell him, even as she taps the call button.

Jughead answers after three rings. “Hey. You’re early today.”

It sounds like he’s outside. Their first semester, she’d known his schedule by heart – maybe not which specific classes he’d be in, but that his Wednesdays and Fridays were mostly free, and that there was no point in calling him before 8 in the evening on a Tuesday.

This semester, she’s always getting it mixed up. There had just been too much going on as winter break drew to a close to memorize his schedule in addition to her own.

“I know.” Betty bites her thumbnail. “Are you busy? I can call back later.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just on my way to class. What’s up? Everything okay?”

Everything _is_ okay. So why does she feel so off-kilter about it? “Yeah, I’m okay.”

There’s a pause, and then he says, “Okay.”

Betty hesitates, then locks the door to her room before collapsing onto her bed. At least this way, if Lauren comes back while they’re still on the phone, she’ll have a few seconds’ warning to collect herself.

“Look, before I say anything else, just know that it came out negative, okay?”

There’s a sound like something banging in the background – a door opening, maybe. “What?”

Betty squeezes her eyes shut; she doesn’t want to have this conversation while he’s distracted. “It sounds like it’s not a good time. I’ll call you tonight.”

“No, wait.” There’s another scraping sound, like he’s going through another door, and then – finally – quiet. “I just had to find an empty classroom. I can talk. What’s going on?”

She takes a deep breath. “I took a pregnancy test this morning. It was negative, but I still wanted to tell you.”

She had felt ridiculous, hovering over the toilet in the dorm bathroom, praying no one else would walk in and recognize her Hello Kitty flip flops and wonder why Betty Cooper was sitting silently in one of the stalls. And she feels ridiculous now, too, now that she’s said it out loud.

_You know that thing that neither of us has ever talked about, and probably don’t want to happen until at least ten years from now? Good news: it’s still not happening._

“You took a test,” he repeats. “Why?”

For once she’s grateful he can’t see her face. “Because I thought I might be pregnant.”

He huffs out what might be a laugh. “Right. Dumb question. I mean, why did you think…that?”

God, he can’t even say it. Does Jughead even want to be a parent? She doesn’t really know. He doesn’t want to be one _now_ – she knows they’re on the same page about that. They hadn’t even stopped using condoms until halfway through their senior year, even though she’d gone on the pill just a few weeks after they’d first slept together.

That doesn’t mean much, of course – they were in high school. She knows that for years, he was essentially Jellybean’s caretaker, with his mom working nights and his dad spending most of them at the bar. The first time he met her niece and nephew, he knew how to cradle their little heads in his hand without her showing him. It’s not crazy to imagine he might want a family someday.

But they’ve never discussed what _their_ version of a family might look like, years from now. Lately it feels like every single thing she does is in sacrifice to some vague future they’ve never given any more than lip service.

“Because my period is late,” she says flatly. “And we weren’t exactly being careful over the holidays.”

Winter break had been their first time seeing one another in person since parting ways at the end of August, and Betty was pretty sure they’d broken some kind of record for consecutive hours spent not-sleeping in bed. It was almost unsettling, how strongly she’d reacted to his physical presence – how desperate she was to smell him and touch him and _feel_ him. She’s always wanted him, but this was something more primal than mere desire. This was a craving.

(And god, he’d satisfied it. Those four weeks together had included some of the best sex they’d ever had.)

Now, on the other end, there’s a sound like Jughead is clearing his throat. “I thought…that you were being careful.”

Like a chemical reaction, her anxiety hardens into anger. “Oh. So it’s _my_ responsibility to be careful.”

“No. Jesus. No.” She can picture him exactly: tugging at the beanie on his head, pacing the room, scowling. It might amuse her, if it wasn’t in reaction to one of the stupidest things he’s ever said.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “Obviously, it’s both of ours. I just – I’m about to head into a lecture, I’m not – you caught me off guard.”

“I told you we could talk later.”

“And I told you I don’t want to do that, because I could tell something was wrong.” Jughead sighs. “Are you okay? Really?”

The sob that rises in her chest feels like it comes out of nowhere. This isn’t the conversation she’d been looking for when she decided to call him. But apparently, it’s the one they’re having. “No.”

“Betts.”

“I _hate_ this.” She grabs a tissue from her desk, wiping helplessly at her cheeks. “I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” He sounds defeated. “I’ll see you in six weeks. It’s not that long.”

“It’s barely been three and I’m already...”

“You’re stressed.” His voice is softer when he says, “What can I do? Do you want me to come out there?”

“No.” It’s a flat-out lie, but she knows if she said anything else – if she even hesitated – he’d do it. He’d do anything for her, up to and including missing his classes and risking his scholarship. Maybe she really is the one who has to be careful.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through this alone and I’m sorry I can’t be there for you.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Betty rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. “You have to go to class.”

“Yeah. I do.” He sounds like it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do. “I love you, Betty. I’ll call you tonight.”

When he does – at nine-thirty, their usual time – she feels calmer, if not quite settled. Lauren is in their room, and so Betty sits in an alcove next to the common room on her floor, her usual spot when she doesn’t want to bother her roommate.

“I’m in the hallway,” she tells him when she answers his call. It’s shorthand by now, for _we can talk, but we can’t **really** talk._

“Really?” He sounds frustrated. “Can’t Lauren just…go in the common room for a little while…?”

“No. She’s studying for an exam,” Betty says shortly. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t think it’s fine. I think we need to talk about…what happened.”

He still won’t _say_ it. And she can’t say it – not here, not unless she wants rumors spreading around the dorm like they’re all in high school again.

“Nothing happened, Jug.” Exhausted, Betty rubs at her eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well the past few nights, having convinced herself she was almost definitely pregnant, though in retrospect the anxiety is probably partially at fault for making her period late in the first place.

He’s silent for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She hesitates. He sounds hurt. But she doesn’t know how to explain this without using words she doesn’t want to say out loud. She doesn’t know if she _can_ explain what it’s like to him – the tiny seed of doubt that had sprouted in the back of her mind after a day or two, the way it ballooned into absolute certainty by day five.

And there’s a part of her that resents the fact that he’d feel hurt to begin with. Even though he’d backtracked, she remembers what he’d said on the phone, just this afternoon: _I thought you were being careful._

This is about _her_ body. _Her_ stress. The weight that _she_ carries around inside of her – the weight of both of their futures. Sometimes that feels like a certain kind of power, but more often it’s simply what it feels like now: a burden.

And now he’s making it about himself. His own feelings.

She shouldn’t have even told him.

“This is the soonest it would even make sense to tell you,” Betty says, determined to keep her voice level. “If I told you every single time it was a day or two late you’d be in a constant state of panic.”

“But – okay, look.” He sounds frustrated. “Are _you_ in a constant state of panic? That’s – that’s what I’m worried about right now.”

“No,” she snaps, and immediately regrets it. She must be the worst girlfriend on earth: angry that her boyfriend is _worried_ about her.

She adds in a softer tone, “No. I’m not. But I don’t want to talk about this anymore, can we just – can you tell me about your day? Or something?”

There’s a pause. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to say no – to insist they talk this out, this heavy, unnamed _thing_ that’s been present in every conversation since they parted ways in January.

He doesn’t. He starts to recount his morning – he’d overslept, because Cory had fiddled with his alarm clock the night before, or something – she doesn’t quite follow the story. She’s not really trying. It’s the cadence of his voice she hears, not the words, and she pictures him stretched out along the navy blue comforter of his extra-long twin size bed that she’s seen on her computer screen so many times, but never felt under her own fingertips.

It takes her a long, long time to fall asleep that night.

This is so much harder than she’d thought it would be.

_tbc_


End file.
